


Eight Basic Steps

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, Established JT Tarmel/Tally Tarmel, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel Friendship, Open Relationships, Salsa dancing, Sharing a Bed, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: JT and Malcolm go undercover as a security officer and a dance instructor, respectively.Oh, and they also have to pretend to be boyfriends.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Comments: 25
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missneko/gifts).



“ _What?_ Gil, no—” Malcolm pushes off the wall, face incredulous. 

Gil opens his mouth to respond, but JT beats him to it. “He’s right.”

Some of Malcolm’s anger deflates. He smoothes out his suit jacket with too quick movements. “Thank you... Jared Theodore.”

“A, not even close,” JT says, not too exasperated, not after nearly two years of this game. “B, I was talking about Gil. Look man, you think I _want_ to share a bed with your crazy ass for God knows how long?” The slight smile on his face softens the blow. “But he’s right. Being a couple gives us a way to touch base.”

Malcolm sighs. “And we can’t afford to be suspicious. Fine.” His mouth sets mulishly, his brows still sharp with reluctance. “I warned you.”

“I trust you two,” Gil interjects calmly. He looks right at Malcolm. “This hotel looks like the next target, and off the four of us, you and JT have the right training to pull this off.”

It’s true. JT has the military background to firm up his qualifications and even did a short stint in security before joining the NYPD. Neither Dani nor Gil are anything to scoff at when it comes to capability, but the hotel is known for employing veterans on their security staff. JT will stick out much less than any of them. He has the best chance of going unnoticed. 

Whereas Malcolm… Malcolm grew up rich. While other kids were trying out for the soccer team, he was learning ballroom dance. That, combined with his naturally lean physique, meant that he quickly became one of the better students — his parents’ pride and joy at social functions. After his father’s arrest, his mother enlisted him in teaching Ainsley. Neither of them wanted his still wide-eyed sister to face the nasty things she’d undoubtedly hear at classes surrounded by those who should have been her friends. 

Ainsley is quite a good dancer — because Malcolm was a good teacher. He enjoyed it, enjoyed the gradual harmonizing of bodies on the dancefloor, the give and take of coordinated steps, and sharing that love served to make him open up in a way he hadn’t since that night in ‘98. If his biggest dream wasn’t being a profiler, he surely would have given it a go professionally.

Gil’s more than aware of his talents, too. Malcolm was the one to help him practice for his wedding. (Jackie asked, too. He spent a lot of time with the two of them separately that year, promising each he wouldn’t tell the other.)

And, of course, the only other opening the hotel has right now is a dance instructor. Theirs had to take leave after slipping on a patch of ice and breaking his leg a week prior. They haven’t been able to hire another yet. The owner of the hotel promised he would bring the two of them onto the staff without any interviews, but they would still have to perform their undercover identities’ jobs unless they wanted to draw attention. 

Gil assured him it wouldn’t be a problem. It won’t be — not the job part at least. They need to be careful, however, and in this case, that means renting a one bedroom place to cover their backs in the event they’re followed home. The best way to explain that and give security a good reason to talk to a dance instructor on a regular basis is a relationship. 

_Naturally_. 

Grinding his teeth, Malcolm glances over at JT. “We have to figure out our stories. Not the facts.” There are plenty of facts in the folders Gil handed the two of them. “The little things. How we met, what side of the bed we each prefer, et cetera.”

“It’s best not to stray too far from the truth,” Dani says, finally piping up. “Especially since we don’t have much time to set this up.”

Gil nods. “Dani will give you two a quick rundown. Do me a favor and listen.”

When they finally take a break for food, when Dani tells them the rest is up to them, JT leans back in his chair and sighs. “I’m wiped, bro. Can we plan our life story a little later?”

“How much later?” Malcolm isn’t saying no, exactly. They just have to have the details ironed out before they go in for their first day tomorrow, and the earlier they do it, the less slip ups they’ll have. 

JT pulls out his phone and types a quick message. A few seconds later, it pings. “Tally’s making meatloaf tonight.” He types something else, and the result buzzes in Malcolm’s pocket. Likely an address. JT looks him in the eye. “This isn’t an open invitation.”

“So no showing up in the middle of the week.” Malcolm chuckles. “I got it. Don’t worry about it.”

Shoving his phone back in his jacket, JT stands and picks up the folder he has to memorize. He stops at the doorway. “Oh, and bro? Don’t wear anything that needs dry cleaning. Niki’s got a wicked aim with some peas now.”

Some of his stress fades. Malcolm’s still worried about how all of this will pan out, but he reminds himself that he and JT have a rapport now. Their professional relationship is nothing like what it was back when they worked the Berkhead case. They have over a year of trust under them. They have each other’s backs. Malcolm’s met Tally, was one of the first to send a bouquet when little Niki was born. JT _jokes_ with him. 

Malcolm only hopes this case doesn’t destroy that. He bites his lip as he gathers up his own folder. He’ll be Malcolm Milton, a distant but still established relative of the Milton family who grew up in ballrooms but doesn’t have the inheritance to live the high life without a care. That should be easy enough. This Malcolm, however, is madly in love with his boyfriend, JT. That won’t be hard either.

The hard part will be keeping them separate. Not that Malcolm’s actually _in_ love with him, but he’s found JT attractive since the start, and it’s only gotten worse as he’s gotten the chance to see beyond the prickly exterior. He used to look at the other man and wonder if he was strong enough to pick him up, slam him into a wall. Now, he looks at him and knows he can talk to him about nearly anything. He’ll get a snarky comment in response, sure, but JT is there for him. 

Malcolm can’t imagine his feelings will be easy to hide once they’re sharing a room. He silently curses his rich childhood for getting him into this mess. At least Tally will be there tonight. He likes Tally. Hopefully the thought of her will get him through this case without making an ass of himself.

JT answers the door with Niki cradled in his arms. She tries to squirm out of his hold in an effort to reach Malcolm as soon as she sees him. 

This is not the first time they’ve met. Although Malcolm has no idea what to do with a child so young, his memories of Ainsley at that age hazy, his hesitation has never stopped her during team bonding dinners. He gives her a little smile, shifting awkwardly on the front stoop.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” JT tells him and steps aside to let him in. After a moment’s pause, he turns to Malcolm and holds out Niki, who manages to grab a fistful of the soft sweater he put on for tonight. “Go on, man, take her.”

Malcolm does, carefully supporting her while she wraps her tiny arms around his neck. 

JT nods, satisfied. “It’s hard not to smile when this booger’s climbing all over you.”

From her perch, Niki blows a very wet raspberry at her daddy. 

Tally comes in just in time to see Malcolm lose the battle with the smile he’s trying to suppress. “Malcolm!” She grins, looking as vibrant as always. “JT, get him a drink.”

Then they’re alone, though the two of them can hear the half-hearted grumbling her husband is making for show in the kitchen. 

“How’ve you been?” With a soft smile, Tally reaches out and wipes some drool off Niki’s chin. 

“Oh, you know,” Malcolm says awkwardly. “Solving crimes with the team, getting dragged to my mother’s charity events. The usual.” He shifts the toddler for a better grip.

Tally waggles her brows and leans in for a faux whisper. “Any gossip?”

Playing along, he makes a shushing gesture to Niki and winks at her mother. “A few divorces. A few more mistresses.”

It pulls a laugh out of both girls. Malcolm makes a mental note to get the Tarmels on the guest list at some point.

(If they’re still talking to him after this case.)

Now JT comes back, a glass of ice water in hand. “Sorry it’s not the fancy shit.”

Tally pokes him in the cheek on her way back to the kitchen. “You better hope her first word isn’t a curse.”

“Yeah, yeah.” JT sets the glass down on a nearby table, reaches out for his daughter, and pries her away from where she clutches onto Malcolm. “You’ll be covered in it if I don’t,” he explains. 

Malcolm picks it up, the condensation wetting his palm. He takes a small sip. “It’s, uh, good.”

JT snorts. “It’s water. C’mon.” Pivoting, he moves to a small dining area. There’s a highchair there, and he gently deposits Niki into it. He takes the seat next to it. “Take a seat, man.”

Across the table seems to be the best choice. Malcolm clears his throat as he sits. “So. Details.”

“Yeah, details.” There’s something in JT’s eyes then, something intent. Scrutinizing. “You chased after me.”

Malcolm startles. “What?”

“If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re one persistent motherfucker,” JT says plainly. “You wore me down until I agreed to a date.”

Malcolm chuckles, catching on. “Pool?” he suggests. He _is_ persistent. It’s odd to remember that the man in front of him used to think Gil was insane for bringing him in on the team. Even Dani, with all of her hard-earned trust issues, softened up to him earlier than JT had. But Malcolm wanted to be colleagues at the very least. Now they’re friends. 

“Sure. You were awful.” He’s not wrong. 

“But endearing?” Malcolm says, tilting his head. 

“You grew on me.” Reaching out, JT hands Niki the teething toy strapped to the side of the highchair. The corners of his mouth quirk up when she shoves it in her mouth. “Like a fungus.”

They need to be close for this to work. Malcolm nods. “And now we’re in a committed relationship. We’re living together, comfortable working in the same building, and it shouldn’t be strange for us to visit the other on breaks.” He takes a sip of his water to give himself a moment to think. “How far are you willing to take the physicality of this?” 

(Privately, Malcolm hopes the answer is not very far at all. Getting to touch JT while knowing it’s all a ruse won’t be easy.)

JT levels him with a serious look, none of the humor from before left over. “You okay being touched?I’m thinking small stuff — a hug or an arm around your shoulders. Nothing too showy.”

Mulling it over, Malcolm decides that it sounds doable. It should be just enough to confirm they’re together without making either of them uncomfortable. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Honey,” Tally calls out from the kitchen. “Help me with these plates.”

Although his wife is openly eager to hear more about the work they do, she switches topics with ease as soon as JT asks for no shop talk tonight. Instead, she asks about his family. Ainsley’s become too popular at the network to escape the average news-watching New Yorker, and Tally watches plenty. 

(Malcolm promises to pass on her compliments on his sister’s newest round of pantsuits.)

The dinner discussion inevitably turns to his mother’s budding relationship with their boss. JT and Malcolm share an awkward look when that comes up, and a snickering Tally moves on to a documentary she watched over the weekend.

All too soon, it’s over. Malcolm offers to help clear the plates. Tally puts a drooling Niki in his arms in response, knowing he’ll sit still, wary of making her cry. 

“You’re our guest, Malcolm Bright. JT can do the dishes.” She gives him a brilliant smile as she takes her seat again. 

He lets her daughter pat at his face with a tiny spit-covered hand. “You want to talk to me about something,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“I do.” Glancing over to the kitchen, checking if JT is already elbow deep in suds, Tally leans forward, her voice soft. “It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re uncomfortable with this case.”

So this is also why she handed him Niki. “I’ve worked undercover before.”

“Not in a relationship like this?”

Malcolm shakes his head. Niki coos and grabs a loose strand of his hair. He winces when she tugs it. 

Tally gives him a sympathetic look, though he’s not sure whether it was the pain or the case that brought it about. “I’m going to miss my husband,” she admits, “but I understand what he has to do for the case. Don’t you feel bad about having to kiss him to convince a few people.”

There’s a pause during which Malcolm will never admit he’s imagining doing just that.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself,” she continues. 

When his gaze snaps back to her, the apples of her cheeks are just barely flushed, and her eyes are dancing with her amusement. “Tally Tarmel,” he says slowly, incredulously.

“What? JT’s hot.” She winks at him. 

The faucet shutting off in the kitchen saves him from having to figure out what exactly to say to that. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two boys to it,” Tally says, deftly pulling her daughter from Malcolm’s hands. 

JT sits down in the chair she abandoned. “Tell me if I’m forgetting anything, man, but I think all we have to talk about now is sleeping arrangements.”

Ah. Yes. The apartment they’ll be sharing as a couple is a one bedroom affair. There _is_ a small living room area, but from the pictures Malcolm’s seen, there’s no way JT will fit on that couch. Malcolm knows he’s short enough to sleep there himself — if he didn’t need to strap himself in. Despite the mystery of the Girl in the Box having been long solved at this point, his nightmares still insist on keeping him company most nights. His restraints will be much more effective on the bed. 

Malcolm looks down at the table and fusses with his sweater. “I don’t suppose you’d be comfortable hog-tying me on the couch for the night?” 

“And let the locals think we’re into some really wild shit? Nah, man.” Just like Tally shortly before him, JT gets serious. “You’re bringing your set-up, and I’m a light sleeper. Had to be when I was overseas. If you’re comfortable sharing the bed, we’ll be good.”

So they’ll be sharing a bed. Malcolm bites his lip. At least his nightmares tend not to turn sexual. Hopefully that will save him from doing something too embarrassing. “We’ll be good.”

JT gives him a good, long look before nodding. “Okay. I’m gonna go put my little girl to bed unless you have any questions.”

“Nope. I’ll see you tomorrow, JT.”

In the morning, Malcolm double-checks his bags and waits for a text from his pseudo-boyfriend. Gil promised them a rental car so that they wouldn’t have to rely on the buses to get back and forth between the apartment and hotel. It’s an older car, probably with a good amount of miles on it already.

It fits. 

JT takes his sunglasses off when Malcolm gets into the passenger seat. “You look less rich today.”

That gets a grin. “I bought off the rack for this.” Nothing fit the way he’s used to, but if anything, that’s better. Maybe the clothes will serve to be a constant reminder of why he’s there, why he shouldn’t get too used to the closeness they’ll have to fabricate. It’s oddly freeing, too, to get to be someone else. Someone without the baggage that comes with being Malcolm Bright. 

JT snorts, putting his sunglasses back in place. “Off the rack,” he mutters. “Tally’s not gonna believe this.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. Their apartment is already set up, for the most part. There are a couple of boxes in the back of the rental, one of which is likely full of JT’s clothes. Through the department, Gil was able to hire a team of movers to move in some basics both in preparation for their indefinite stay and also to give credence to their backstory. Hauling the last few up themselves will only serve to cement it. 

There’s an older man leaving the building when they arrive. JT holds the door open for him, nodding his head and introducing himself to one of their new neighbors while Malcolm opens the trunk. He, too, smiles at the man as he pulls a box out. He’ll have to get used to being in close quarters with these people. 

He already misses the quiet of the loft. 

JT lifts the heaviest box with ease. “Comin’, sweetheart?”

_Sweetheart?_ Malcolm fights down the urge to mouth the word as he picks up the other box. His own duffle is already slung over his shoulder. The trunk clicks closed. 

When they climb the narrow steps, they follow the numbers down the hall until they come across 2D, the apartment set up by the precinct. Inside is a collection of used furniture, likely from previous cases. There are only two doors. One is presumably for the bathroom. JT brings the heavy box through the open door into the bedroom. The bed is already made, and thankfully, they listened when Malcolm requested a decently strong frame for it. 

Without a word, he sets his duffle on the mattress and gets to work hooking up his restraints. 

“The top two drawers are yours,” JT says, closing one of the bottom two. He fishes a pile of shirts, still attached to hangers, out of his box. 

Malcolm nods. He bites his cheek to stop himself from saying something. It’s all very… domestic. His own clothes are folded up in his duffle. Usually he’ll bring at least one garment bag when he needs to travel, but the identity he needs to adopt can’t afford the kinds of clothes he would put in them, so he didn’t bother. 

JT slides his side of the closet shut as soon as he’s done. “We should practice. Make sure we’re ready for tomorrow.”

“Practice what, exactly?” The two drawers are just enough for everything but his shirts. He quietly takes the stack of hangers JT purposefully left on the bed and hangs them up. He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

JT gives him a look. “Unless you want to tip off our psycho, I think we need to learn to be a couple, bro.”

Shifting his balance from one foot to the other, Malcolm tries to center himself. Of course that was what he meant. It’s not what Malcolm wanted to hear, but it’s a valid point nevertheless. If they’re going to pull this off in front of others — where he’ll be as comfortable as he can be with this situation — he’s going to have to get used to pretending when it’s just the two of them. 

_Without_ giving away his attraction. 

“Okay,” Malcolm says, glancing over his shoulder.

“Okay, then.” There’s a moment where the other man lingers, silent, before he breaks the now empty box down and slides it under the bed until the case is solved. “I’m ordering Greek. You want anything?”

“I can—”

“Nope,” JT says flatly. “I offered, I’m paying. You want anything or not?”

He _does_ like Greek food. Malcolm thinks it over as he hangs his last two shirts. “If they have chicken souvlaki, I’ll have that.” Simple chicken skewers with a good marinade. Nothing that will upset his stomach. 

“I’ll go order.”

The wait for the food is spent in silence. In the bedroom, Malcolm finishes futzing with his restraints, desperately hoping that JT is right, that between the cuffs and JT’s instincts, the nights will go smoothly. He’s not sure what the detective is doing in the other room. He assumes he’s getting one last break before they spend the day awkwardly hanging all over each other. 

The door shuts.

Malcolm leaves the bedroom to find the rest of the apartment empty, as expected. JT must be picking up the food at the building door. He hovers at the small dining table for a moment, then sits on the old couch. Unlike his own loft, the emptiness doesn’t lend itself to much quiet. The slight creak of footsteps above him, soft muffled sounds of a radio across the hall, the occasional closing door — all of it can be heard from the living room. He’s so used to the rush of traffic that he doesn’t notice it much anymore, but the sound of life around him is new. He regrets leaving Sunshine with Dani. At least her noises would be familiar. 

The door opens suddenly, having never been locked. JT kicks it closed behind him and sets a big paper bag on the table. He pulls an aluminum takeout tray first, looks at it, and slides it across the table. “Food’s up.”

Malcolm gets up.

JT pulls a chair out for him.

Malcolm stalls. 

“I’m not gonna bite.”

Maybe Malcolm wants him to. Burying that thought, he sits at the proffered spot. The container in front of him has several skewers inside, pieces of onion and bell pepper sandwiched between bites of marinated chicken. Another container is set next to it. He glances up at JT, who’s opening up his own food. This one has grilled pita in it. Malcolm opens both. 

“We’ll have to talk if we eat together at work, you know,” JT says, digging into what looks like moussaka. 

Malcolm uses a fork to take the food off of one of the skewers and onto a piece of pita. “We could always talk about family. My mother isn’t the only Milton who’s a character. I imagine I have a lot to say about them.”

“Alright, lay it on me.”

Malcolm takes a moment to think about the stories he knows are true and how to twist them to suit his needs. “My sister,” he starts, mulling it over, “is trying her hand at breeding poodles. It’s not going well.”

JT shakes his head. “Now that sounds like some rich bullshit.”

Malcolm’s lips twitch as he remembers his mother complaining about how pretentious his second cousin’s business attempt was. Not that anyone was willing to listen to Mrs. Whitly, blood or not, about it. “Did you know poodles are quite intelligent? If they become bored, they get… destructive.”

This time, JT chuckles, shoulders shaking a tad. “Let me guess, your _sister_ didn’t bother to do her research.”

“Not at all.” Malcolm can feel his smile widen at the sound. It always feels like an accomplishment to make JT laugh. He hides it in another bite of food. “Otherwise, I think we’d best stick to talking about our day.” 

“Sounds good to me, man.”

The rest of the day goes fairly well. They’re already used to moving with the other at work, at crime scenes and in the precinct, so it’s not surprising that they can adapt to doing so in a small apartment, too. Even the small touches JT initiates fail to startle Malcolm too much. A weight at his lower back, a brush of another hand against his, and the tangible presence of a body close to him all become more and more comfortable as the hours pass. 

And then it’s time for bed. 

“We have an early morning,” JT says, quirking a brow when Malcolm tries to brush him off. 

“I don’t need much sleep.” Especially not in a bed up against someone else. He told both JT and Gil what happened with Eve. Neither of them should be okay with this. 

JT shakes his head and wraps an arm around his shoulders, deftly maneuvering him into the bedroom. “Way I see it, you need a lot more than you’re getting, bro.” When he does let go, it’s to unbutton his pants, slide them down. He picks them up and immediately puts them in the pop-up hamper in the corner without glancing at Malcolm. 

There’s no indication that he’s bothered by the company at all. Malcolm bites his lip. Going back to the living room now would look silly. He hesitantly takes a pair of sweatpants out of his drawers, turning away from the other man to slip them on. It would be best if he just pretended it was a normal night at his loft, wouldn’t it? He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, splash water on his face. With a deep breath in, out, he gets into bed, puts in his mouthguard, and cuffs his ankles and then wrists to the frame. 

“It’ll be fine,” JT reassures him as he climbs into his own side. He lays on his side, pulls the covers over his shoulder, and turns off the light. 

Maybe it will. Maybe the fear of attacking JT in his sleep will keep Malcolm still for the entirety of the night. Maybe he’ll sleep okay. 

Maybe he’ll hurt JT.

Malcolm can’t sleep. Beside him, the other man is silent, but his breathing has evened out, signalling that he’s managed to fade without much trouble. Quite probably because he has no frame of reference for what Malcolm is capable of when in the throes of a night terror. These restraints are the same from his loft, which means they’re sturdy on their own. This bed, however… is of questionable quality in comparison. If he used enough force, he could probably break free. JT would be right there, ready for Malcolm’s mind to project something on, to be the source of his anxiety and fear.

There are so many things for him to stress about now. He knows he’ll have to cover up the dark circles before going into work.

At some point, somehow, he falls asleep.

“Embrace it,” his father says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

As if Malcolm _wants_ to be like him. “Never,” he insists.

His father sighs. “You’d be so much happier if you accepted your nature, my boy. Your anxiety, these nightmares… all of this inner turmoil would go away.”

“I’m not like you.” Straightening out his suit jacket, Malcolm does a heel turn and walks right for the door. This visit is over.

Except the door won’t open. 

Behind him, his father begins humming.

Malcolm knocks on the door. Mr. David should be down the hall. He can open the door and let Malcolm out. 

No one comes.

“Oh, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Martin says.

Malcolm pounds on the door. When that doesn’t work, he hits harder, more rapidly. “Mr. David!”

“Looks like we’ll be sharing digs for a while.” There’s a slight creak as Martin sits at his desk.

“Let me out! _Let me out!_ ” 

“Calm the fuck down, bro. Shit.”

Something wraps around him, and Malcolm struggles even harder. “No!”

“It’s JT. I’ve got you,” the voice stresses. “Wake up, man. You’re hurting yourself.”

Malcolm’s eyes snap open. He breathes heavily as he takes in the soft light from the lamp by the side of the bed, JT’s worry-creased face hovering above him. “I’m awake.”

“You weren’t kidding about the night terrors.” JT hesitates but lets him go. “Be careful with your wrists.”

Now that that’s said, Malcolm realizes just how sore they are. He must have been pulling at the restraints a lot. He swallows and drops his head back down to his pillow. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Need anything?”

Malcolm shakes his head. “What time is it?”

The bed dips as JT rolls over to check the clock. “Three.”

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Malcolm says quietly.

But JT snorts. “While you lie there awake? Nah.”

“I’ll likely have another and wake you up again.”

“I don’t care about that,” JT tells him, blunt as ever.

And Malcolm believes him.

“Go to sleep, Bright.”

He does.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, the atmosphere is a little awkward. Of course. Malcolm dresses quickly and leaves his hair loose. He needs a more relaxed feel for this job. 

JT seems to give him space for the first hour or so. He’s quiet as he scrambles eggs in a pan, shoves bread into the old toaster. It’s only after they eat that the silence is broken. “Let me see your wrists,” he says suddenly.

The bruises feel more prominent now. His henley covers them, thankfully, and Malcolm makes no move to push the sleeves up. But when JT gives him a no-nonsense look, he finds himself caving. They’re not the worst he’s ever had — the incident when he flung himself out of the window at the loft was much worse on his body — though they’re dark against his pale skin all the same. 

JT winces just looking at them. “We can grab some arnica on the way home.”

“They’ll heal on their own,” Malcolm protests. In a few days, they’ll be faded and then gone. It’s not a big deal.

“You pulled hard when I grabbed you.” JT shakes his head. “There’s a CVS on the way.”

The problem is that he clearly has no concept of just how much damage Malcolm can do to himself without anyone trying to interfere, not to mention that he must have been asleep before the night terror started. Malcolm pulls his sleeves back down. “I imagine you were startled.”

JT doesn’t look mollified, but he lets it drop. “We leave in fifteen,” he says instead, standing up and grabbing his breakfast plate to wash in the sink. 

The ride over to the hotel is quiet. This time, however, it’s a peaceful quiet rather than a tense one. JT plays with the radio while Malcolm buckles himself in, eventually settling on a classic rock station. He focuses on the road then and expertly navigates New York traffic.

Malcolm watches the buildings pass. Every now and then, he tucks a lock of stubborn hair behind his ear with an idle hand. He feels underdressed. This level of casual isn’t completely foreign, but his job at the FBI and his position as one of the disgraced New York elite always required him to look more formal when he was on the job, so to speak. The owner of the hotel assured them that the previous dance instructor wore casual clothes for mobility and comfort. 

Soon enough, JT pulls into an employee-designated parking space behind the hotel. He puts the car in park and turns to Malcolm. “There’s one thing we forgot to set straight.”

Malcolm blinks. “What?”

“Kissing.”

Malcolm’s brain screeches to a halt. Sure, logically, he should have thought about that, and hell, Tally even joked about it, but somewhere along the line, he must have forgotten —

“I’m not talking tongue action, bro,” JT says, completely serious. “Just enough to convince the locals.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Malcolm responds, even as the thought that this is definitely not going to work out flits through his head. 

With a nod, JT gets out of the car. He waits for Malcolm by the trunk, and the two of them walk into the employee entrance together. The main security office — where he has to report — is back here in a long, gray hallway. He stops in front of the doorway and gently tugs Malcolm forward into a brief kiss. 

It’s nothing special. Closed mouth, short, and with only the barest amount of tangible affection, and yet, Malcolm is stunned for a moment. When he does manage to pull himself together, he murmurs a quick _see you_ before wandering down in the direction of his studio, ignoring the amused smile on JT’s face.

“Later, sweetheart,” the detective calls down the hall.

The schedule left behind by the previous instructor is simple enough to follow. There are two open classes a day, each one on a different dance, with private sessions inbetween. Even the dances are penciled in. Malcolm takes a moment to say a silent thanks to the man for being so organized. 

And then another to his mother for encouraging him to take dancing lessons as a kid. Salsa, two different types of waltz, and foxtrot are all on the list in front of him _and_ the list of classes he’d taken over the years. 

The first open class is a Viennese waltz. That one he could teach in his sleep. The turns and box steps are second nature, and he easily loses himself in the rhythm of it, flitting between couples to correct their form or help them get in sync with each other. Though some of the men are, unsurprisingly, not as enthusiastic as their partners, he manages to get everyone to a decent stage before the hour is up. 

“Remember,” Malcolm says, cracking a bottle of water open, “I’ll be teaching the waltz every day this week. Same time as today.”

Hopefully, those sessions will be more fruitful than today’s. Some of the couples were comfortable enough with their footwork to talk, but he didn’t hear anything useful. There was talk of food, movies, where to visit next, etc. None of them seemed like murderers to him, either. 

Not that that means much.

Some of the couples wave as they filter through the door. 

Next up is a private session with a bridal party. Their partners would be coming by in the evenings for the first few days, apparently embarrassed about being in a class together. Or, at least, that’s what the previous instructor guessed in his notes. He penciled them in for the same times all week, every session to be spent on salsa dancing, which is naturally a lot more...fluid than a waltz. Malcolm caps his water. He has another fifteen minutes before the party comes in, and that’s enough time to do a quick yoga routine, to stretch and relax his body.

He starts simple. Breathing exercises to settle himself. Light stretches. He’s in the middle of crow pose when he hears the giggles. Getting to his feet as gracefully as he can, Malcolm turns to find what he assumes is the bridal party crowded at the door. “Come in,” he says, brushing his hair back. “You’re Mason and friends, right?”

“Yep,” a brunette at the front of the group says. There’s a light blush on her face. “I’ll be Brittany Mason next month.”

“Great.” That _might_ be enough time to find a new instructor after he and JT solve their case. He almost feels bad for not being able to focus more on them. “Do any of you have any experience with salsa dancing?”

All six of them shake their heads. 

He has a feeling that means none of their partners do, either. It’s not a terrible situation though. He can teach them the basic salsa steps, and they might look like they know what they’re doing at the wedding. “Okay,” Malcolm says, pulling up all of the memories of salsa classes he’s attended, “we’re going to start with the basic eight steps.”

The class goes by quickly. He spends most of that time trying to explain that they need to shift their weight, not just take steps forward and back. They have to move their hips in time with those shifts. He shows them several times and even asks for permission to guide their hips with his hands, too, all the time ignoring the creeping flush across several of the girls’ faces. 

He _does_ come to the conclusion that none of them are their murderer. 

He tells JT that on their mutual lunch break. In a way. “I’ve had a smooth morning,” Malcolm says across the small table. _Nothing yet._ Their legs are touching underneath it, one of his stretched out between JT’s and vice versa. Other employees are in the breakroom, too. The counter by the coffee machine is crowded, and a couple stand in the corner by the fridge talking and eating. 

“Same here,” JT says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I might get bored if it continues like this. At least you get to meet people, sweetheart.” _Tell me what you’ve scoped out._

Malcolm hides his reaction as best he can behind a sip of water. “They’ve all been nice.” _No one’s pinged my radar._ “I had a bridal party this morning. Most of them came from out of state.” _They couldn’t have been here for the rest of the murders._

JT nods. Chewing the last bite of food, he balls up the wrapper and stands up. “Don’t forget we have a call with Pops tonight.” _Gil._ JT rounds the small table, dips down for a quick peck, and strolls out of the room, veering off to the trash can for a second before he disappears through the doorway. 

By the time Malcolm composes himself and finishes his meager lunch, it’s nearly time for his next class. 

The afternoon is much the same as the morning.

JT’s phone rings late that night. Both of them look over at it, knowing exactly who’s on the other end of the line. It unlocks with a few taps of JT’s thumb, and he picks up. “Pops.”

The volume is set low on purpose. There’s no certainty they won’t be followed by their murderer, and so they can’t afford to give away anything now that they’ve officially started their undercover work. As a result, Malcolm can’t hear what Gil says in return. He hesitantly slides closer to JT on the couch. All he gets is the same simple and veiled assessment of JT’s day in security he got around lunch.

“Yeah, he’s here.” Wrapping an arm around Malcolm’s shoulders, JT pulls him a little closer and hands over the phone. 

Malcolm swallows and takes it. “Hey, Pops.”

Even Gil had vetoed _Dad_ in light of his past. 

“Hey, kid,” Gil says. “Anything interesting to share? Settling in well?”

“I think so. And, unfortunately, no. My classes were nothing special.” Not that he expected to solve the case on the first day.

“I’m sure something will catch your attention,” Gil says reassuringly. “I’ll talk to you two tomorrow. Take care of each other.” _Watch each other’s back._

Malcolm glances at JT, remembering all of the times since they’ve met that they’ve done just that. “Always. Bye, Pops.”

The call cuts off. 

“Ready for bed?” JT says quietly. He reaches over to take the phone back. 

“As ready as I can be… Joseph Timothy.”

“Nice try.”

This time, the nightmares force him to wake up with tears running down the sides of his face, leaking into his hair, his entire body shaking.

JT grumbles half-asleep and throws an arm over him to tug him into an embrace.

Malcolm lets him.

The bridal party is back. Their giddiness both grates against his exhaustion and manages to rub off on him enough to perk him up a bit. 

He gives them a tired smile. “First, I want you to show me what you learned yesterday. I need to know what stuck.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he turns on a salsa playlist and watches them match the rhythm. 

As expected, they’re still struggling with the hip movement. 

The music softens, the volume turned to half what it was. “Brittany,” Malcolm says, taking a step forward, “come up. You’ll be my helper.”

The rest of the girls giggle. Brittany waves them off and walks up to him. “Where do you want me?”

“Face your friends. Are you still okay with me touching you?” Call it the lack of sleep or maybe the tense anticipation of his upcoming lunch with JT, but he pushes up his sleeves without thinking. He can see his mistake in the resulting round of gasps and giggles. His bruises are front and center now, quite plainly the result of thick cuffs. The arnica helped, but they’re still fresh.

Even Brittany turns her head. Her cheeks are flushed as she meets his eyes, her own glittering with amusement. “I didn’t know you were that kinky. Any tips?”

He feels the smirk as it forms. “On how to move your hips?” He winks. “Plenty. Just ask my boyfriend.”

If anything, this class will be more fun now. If he’s lucky, they might be comfortable enough to talk openly around him the more he opens up to them. 

She brings a hand up to her lips to hide her smile. “Yeah, you can touch me.” With that, she turns back to face her friends.

Malcolm chuckles and puts his hands on her hips. “Start from the top, okay? I’ll move with you, so don’t worry about stepping on my feet.”

Hesitantly, she begins to move, counting the steps under her breath. She’s good about letting him shift her hips the way she should, and soon enough, the two of them are moving fairly fluidly, Malcolm only needing to give her a nudge now and then to make sure she gets enough movement in.

When they break, she goes back to her friends. All of them practice until he’s confident they can handle the eight steps side-to-side, and he loses himself in that for the rest of class. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” JT says as he walks into the breakroom, giving Malcolm a small heads-up before he hugs him from behind. He’s broad enough to cover his back.

Malcolm tilts his head to catch his eyes. “Hey, teddy bear.” 

The toaster dings. His bagel pops up, lightly browned. 

JT quirks a brow at the nickname but doesn’t dispute it. “Looks like you had a good day.”

“No different than yesterday,” Malcolm says meaningfully. His other morning classes provided no new intel. He spreads both halves with cream cheese.

“Nothing new on my end, either.” Glancing down at the bagel on the plate, JT sneaks a half and takes a bite. 

Malcolm pouts.

JT kisses his cheek and puts the half back on the plate, missing a big crescent. 

That night, Malcolm ends up back in his arms. His sleep still isn’t good, but it could be much worse. 

His bridal class the next day goes even smoother. The girls are somewhat distracted by the prospect of finding out more about his boyfriend, and yet they still put effort into remembering to move their hips until it becomes second nature. They’re picking up the side-to-side steps easier than the forward-and-back, if only because they already have a better idea of what the movement should feel like. 

Malcolm’s walking around the group observing when the door opens. He glances over and blinks when he sees JT standing in the threshold, arms crossed, biceps pushing at the simple black shirt sleeves. “I didn’t expect to see you here, teddy bear,” he says, all too aware of their audience. 

The audience that practically _cooed_ when he admitted his boyfriend was taller than him.

The slight amused twitch of JT’s lips is clear if you know him well enough to know what you’re looking for. “Figured I’d pop in to see what my sweetheart was up to.”

“I’m teaching these lovely ladies how to dance salsa.” Malcolm exaggerates when he gestures to the group, knowing it will make them giggle. A horrible thought forms in his head, and he can’t stop himself. “Why don’t we show them what it should look like with a partner? The classes don’t merge until tomorrow.”

Brittany claps excitedly. “Please! I’d love to see that.”

There’s a quiet moment where JT seems to think about it. After a beat, he makes his way to Malcolm, who leads him to the front of the room as the girls all cheer. “I know a bit, sure.”

Malcolm starts the music over again. “Then you lead, I’ll follow.” He gently places his hand on JT’s shoulder, shivering slightly when a warm palm rests on his back. Their other hands meet, and their fingers entwine. As they wait for the right beat, he meets JT’s eyes. 

They’re lit up with something. Confidence, maybe. Then, there’s a slight push on their clasped hands as JT moves forward. His footwork is smooth, quick. He uses the hand on Malcolm’s lower back to keep him in rhythm as he moves backwards. Another push, and they’re turning in place, not letting up on the steps. 

Malcolm’s lips part.

JT guides him into a few repetitions of side-to-side before switching to twirling him around. There’s nothing slow about this. Nothing beginner. JT knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s an excellent lead, giving Malcolm all of the cues he needs to keep up with the fast paced give and take. 

Even when he lets go of him, Malcolm knows where to go, what to do. It’s been a long time since he danced like this with someone else. He doesn’t have to think at all about where this is leading, because they’re completely in sync. 

The music starts to trail off. JT twirls him once more, his own feet never stopping for more than the built-in pauses, and dips him for the finale.

Malcolm stares up at him, feeling completely off-balance.

The girls cheering and clapping snaps him out of it. 

He clears his throat as JT pulls him back up. “I think that’s lunch. Um, why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll finish up with the class.”

JT nods. Before stepping away, however, he kisses him, this time with a little more of _something_ , and leans over until his breath skates across Malcolm’s ear. “We got a break,” he whispers.

The girls giggle, likely imagining all of the things he might have said. 

And then JT walks out. 

“He’s strong,” Brittany says, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“He is.” Malcolm brushes his hair back and grins. “I think someone’s getting lucky tonight.”

They might have solved the case, after all.

The girls hoot and holler playfully. 

Lunch is tense, but not necessarily in a bad way. Both of them can feel something simmering between them.

Arriving home is about the same. 

“I’ll call Pops,” JT says suddenly, dark eyes watching Malcolm move towards the bedroom.

Malcolm swallows and nods. He barely has the presence of mind to go shower, but he pushes himself forward. Although a day of dancing may not sound like much work, he feels gross. 

The door closes behind him. He strips and steps into the spray and washes himself mechanically. His mind is out in the living room, on the detective who so expertly guided him through their dance earlier that day, and he finds he can still feel JT’s eyes lingering on him despite the distance. He lets the water wash over his face and through his hair. Suds travel down his body, swirling down the drain. 

A shiver races through him. He’s not sure what awaits outside.

Malcolm towels himself dry, his damp hair cool against the nape of his neck. He slips on comfortable clothing and walks out to the living room. 

“— permission.” JT shakes his head. “I know, just wanted to make sure.”

Malcolm stalls in the doorway. That’s not the tone he typically takes with Gil or Dani, so it must be someone else. He has his money on Tally. 

And then JT meets his eyes. There’s a pause. “Yeah, babe, he’s here.”

Fuck, if Malcolm’s mouth doesn’t feel dry. He shifts his balance from one foot to the other. 

JT pulls the phone away from his ear and taps on the screen. “He can hear you.”

Tally’s voice comes through the speakers, slightly tinny but wholly understandable. “Malcolm!” There’s a smile in her voice. “This is me giving you two permission for whatever happens tonight.”

Malcolm gapes. This _can’t_ be a joke, though. Not with the way JT is looking at him like he can’t wait to rip his damp clothes off, the way Tally’s tone took on a sultry note as she trailed off. “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me,” she says plainly. “Listen, Niki is getting hungry. Have fun, and if there happen to be any pictures…”

“I’ll share,” JT cuts in knowingly. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

And then it’s just the two of them. 

JT’s stare is as intense as ever. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, bro.”

Malcolm swallows but shakes his head. “Are you going to fuck me, JT?”

“I was hoping to,” JT says, and with that, he stalks forward until he’s a foot in front of Malcolm. 

“Good.” Lurching forward, Malcolm pulls him into a kiss — not a peck, nothing closed-mouthed or short about it. He slides his tongue into JT’s mouth, against another tongue. He kisses him like he’s desperate. 

Because he is. 

But JT comes back at him with just as much enthusiasm, as much want. Like they’re still dancing, him the lead to Malcolm’s follow, he reaches down to catch the leg Malcolm lifts, hoisting him up into a carry with little visible effort beyond the grunt that disappears into the kiss. He stumbles into the bedroom like that, unintentionally fulfilling one of Malcolm’s fantasies. 

Somehow, they end up on the bed.

Malcolm pushes him away with a light hand. As soon as JT backs off, wary, he reaches into the bedstand on his side to fish out a small bottle of lube. “I didn’t think anything would happen, but…”

“You wanted to be prepared.” JT removes his shirt, unbuckles his pants, and plucks the bottle from his hands. “I can respect that.”

“Glad to hear I’ve finally earned your respect,” Malcolm quips. He whips his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.

Both of them know he earned it quite a while ago.

JT pulls Malcolm’s pants and boxers down until they can be kicked off to the side. He stands to remove his own, eyes roaming the pale skin of his partner. Malcolm’s cock rests against his thigh. As he looks, it twitches, already growing hard. JT fists his own dick and smirks. “That for me?”

In response, Malcolm lifts his legs, hooking his arms underneath his knees. “Are we going to fuck or talk?”

“Why not both?” JT climbs onto the bed and opens the lube. 

A slow smile spreads across Malcolm’s lips. “I don’t need prep.”

JT slicks himself up, shifts forward, and presses in.

They both groan as the head pops in, the rest a smooth, heady slide. 

“ _Fuck_.” Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut, mouth dropping open. 

“That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”

With a breathy laugh, Malcolm opens his eyes. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

JT smirks and begins to show that his hipwork on the dancefloor wasn’t a fluke. He starts out slow to get his bearings, but then, keeping a careful eye on the man beneath him, he picks up the pace. The clap of his hips against Malcolm’s ass is loud in the small room. “This better?”

“Much,” Malcolm moans, his cock throbbing against his stomach. “Didn’t know you were so good with your hips.”

JT’s chuckle sounds strained. “Tally and I took salsa classes for our wedding.”

“They paid off.” Letting go of one of his legs, Malcolm fists himself, and the conversation trails off as they reach the tipping point together. Malcolm comes first, the dual sensations too much, too quick. He stripes his chest and catches his chin.

JT doubles down, hips snapping even faster, and then he pulls out, stripping his cock until he adds a few more ropes of come to the mess. He leans back in a kneel. “ _Fuck_.”

Malcolm lets his legs rest on the mattress. “Seconded.” He peers up at JT, a goofy smile on his face. “Didn’t Tally want pictures?”

With a deep, throaty noise, JT gets to his feet and fetches his phone. He takes a few pictures of Malcolm fucked out and covered in come but drops the phone on the bed without sending any and disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back, it’s with a washcloth. 

Malcolm eases up and accepts it with a much more subdued smile. “Thank you.”

JT quirks a brow. “I’m expecting cuddles, you know.” His lips twitch. “What did you call me? Your teddy bear?”

That brings a flush to Malcolm’s face. He hands the now dirty washcloth back and watches as JT throws it into the hamper. 

The detective climbs back into bed, pulling him close and getting settled into a comfortable position. He pulls the covers over them both.

It’s quiet. Cozy.

Malcolm tilts his head to look at JT. “...Jason Todd?”

JT huffs. “Try again, Dick.”

The silence returns.

Until he groans and gives in. “Fine. It’s James Tiberius.”

Malcolm props himself up on his elbow. “...Seriously?”

“That was a _joke_ , bro.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Neko!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖


End file.
